Cyrano de Bergerac Page #3

or have you ruined

if you listen to them.

Think of the enemies you've made,

Montfleury, the Vicomte,

if he lives,

all those foppish marquis,

the Comte de Guiche.

That politician.

He's the Cardinal's nephew.

There's power there!

And power here.

Young fool!

Take an example from me.

20 years a captain,

while others who know only

how to deploy their

forces at court

now dangle a marshal's baton.

Well, uh, someday

I will avenge you, too.

Impossible.

Come on, let's go to dinner.

Dinner?

No, not I.

Why not?

Because I have no money.

But, the purse of gold.

Farewell paternal pension.

And you have

until the first of next month?

Nothing.

What a fool.

Yes, but, what a moment.

Pardon, Monsieur.

A man ought

never to go hungry.

I have everything here.

Please.

My dear child, I cannot bend this Gascon

pride of mine to accept such a kindness.

But, I...

Yet, for fear that

I may give you pain if I refuse,

I will take something.

A grape.

One only.

And a glass of water.

No, clear.

And, uh,...half a macaroon.

Nothing more?

Why, yes.

Your hand to kiss.

Thank you, sir.

Good night.

Idiot.

Dinner.

Drink.

Desert.

Mon Dieux, I was hungry,

abominably.

Tell me.

Anything.

Why to you hate

this Montfleury?

A very bad actor.

Ah, come now, the real

reason, the truth.

That fat goat who cannot hold

his belly in his arms,

still dreams of being

sweetly dangerous among the women.

Sighs and languishes, making sheep's

eyes out of his great frog's face.

I hate him ever since one day

he dared smile upon...

Oh, my friend, I seemed to see over

some flower a great snail crawling.

Eh, what?

Is it possible?

For me to love?

I love.

Whom?

May I know?

Whom I love?

Think a moment.

Think of me.

Me, whom the plainest

woman would despise.

Me, with this nose of mine that marches

on before me by a quarter of an hour.

Whom shall I love.

Why, of course, it must be the

woman in the world most beautiful.

Most beautiful?

In these eyes of mine...

beyond compare.

Wait.

Your cousin, Roxane.

Yes.

Roxane.

Well?

Why not?

If you love her, tell her so.

My old friend.

Look at me and tell me how

much hope remains for me

with this protuberance.

Ahhh, I have no more illusions.

Now and then I may grow tender

walking alone in the blue of evening

through some garden fresh with flowers

after the benediction of the rain.

My poor big devil of a nose

inhales April.

And I follow with my eyes where

some boy with a girl upon his arm,

passes a patch of silver...

and I feel somehow...

I wish I had a woman, too,

walking with me under the moon,

and holding my arm and smiling.

Then I dream.

I forget.

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